


Have the Seat Beside Me

by lady_needless_litany



Category: Derry Girls (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Don't copy to another site, F/M, Meet-Cute, No Plot/Plotless, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-26
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2020-10-28 16:34:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20781683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_needless_litany/pseuds/lady_needless_litany
Summary: A chance meeting brightens Erin's day.





	Have the Seat Beside Me

**Author's Note:**

> I picture them in their early twenties here - they're both working, but they're still at the bottom of the ladder.

The last thing that anyone wanted to do on a cold, dreary midwinter day was sit on a bus. Especially when it was the tail-end of the nighttime rush hour, there was no heating, and the bus' suspension was virtually non-existent.

Certainly, Erin felt somewhat hard done by. She was bundled up in layers, from tights to jumpers to mittens, but her fingers were still frozen — she'd always felt the cold. The only upside, she supposed, was the fact that she missed the peak of the rush hour, so it wasn't as unpleasantly cramped as it could be.

Regardless, she found the first empty set of seats that she could and settled in for the half-hour ride. From the depths of her bags, she produced that week's endeavour at literary enrichment - Seamus Heaney's _Death of a Naturalist_. She found that a good book was usually the best, most pleasant way to pass the time, but on that particular occasion, a combination of tiredness and a lack of enthusiasm meant that she was struggling to process the words on the page in front of her.

About ten minutes later, the bus ground to a halt to let people off and there was a great deal of manoeuvring as the remaining passengers raced to snag better seats. Erin sighed, conceding that the kerfuffle may as well mark the end of her attempt at reading.

As she did so, a voice, polite and gentle and utterly different to the accents she was accustomed to, caught her attention. "Excuse me."

She looked up from her book. Standing in the aisle was a man, about her age, with a look of perpetual concern engraved on his features. He was a familiar face — they saw each other on the bus every morning and most evenings, and had done so for over a year. His office was only the stop after hers and, logically, he probably lived a few streets away from her. Until then, though, they'd never even acknowledged each other.

Unsure, she blinked at him. "Hello?"

Extracting something from his bag, he said, "I think this is yours."

He held it out to her. It was a notebook, baby blue and slightly battered. Nowhere near as embarrassing as her DIYed, pink diary from her teenage years, but she was still chronically mortified by its contents.

She more-or-less snatched it from him, twin bursts of relief and chagrin coursing through her. She'd spent the entire day worrying about it. "It is."

"I didn't read it," he promised, telepathically recognising the concern that had just surfaced in her mind. "But you left it here this morning and it looked like it was quite personal."

"It is," she repeated, protectively stowing it in her own bag. And in light of his level-headed thoughtfulness, she felt almost childish. "Sorry, that was a bit rude. Thank you for-"

Without warning, the bus lurched forward, nearly throwing James off his footing.

Automatically, she shifted to make space for him. "Here, sit down."

"Thanks."

There was a beat of odd, uncomfortable silence, until his eyes alighted on the cover of the book that was still in her hands. "Oh, are you a poetry fan?"

She nodded, a smile lifting the corners of her mouth. "Ever since I was at school. It's the reason I took to journalism, really."

He raised an eyebrow, impressed. "You're a journalist?"

"Oh, no. Aspiring journalist. Currently, a junior editorial assistant. I spend a lot of time checking other people's grammar."

"I'm about the same, really. Except I'm in marketing. Or trying to be, at least."

A groan of solidarity. "Sounds familiar!"

Conversation came easily after that, flowing without a second thought, effortless and engaging enough that she forgot about the bumpiness and the chill They chatted about all manner of things: her book, their jobs, their shared distaste of the bus. Give or take six months, they were the same age. She learnt that James was, despite the accent, at least half from Derry, but had grown up in London. In turn, she told him about her family, who she was still living with, at her mother's and cousin's insistence.

Indeed, the first and only lull in the conversation was when Erin realised that it was her stop. "I'd better go."

"You're welcome," he replied, standing to let her out. "I'm James, by the way."

She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, suddenly self-conscious. "Erin."

"It was nice to meet you. Properly, I mean."

Agreeing, she nodded. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Bright and early," he concurring, with a slight wince.

With a final wave, she made her way off the bus. In all honesty, she couldn't remember the last time that something as uncomplicated as a chat had made her so undeniably, buoyantly cheerful; as she stepped onto the pavement, she couldn't help but grin to herself.

Home wasn't far. She set off in that direction, but she'd only taken two or three steps when she heard a familiar voice behind her, calling out, "Wait!"

Erin turned, sharply, to see James standing on the pavement, several metres behind her. 

He had a deer-in-the-headlights look to him, chewing his bottom lip. He was fidgeting, mindlessly, and he had to take a deep breath before he continued. "Are you - I mean - would you be interested in going out with me sometime? We could talk about poetry… or anything, really. Whatever you wanted."

Erin hadn't been on a date in months — she'd moved on from her teenage low standards and was, at that point in time, quite happy being single. Still, there was something about the way he asked, something about the earnest look in his eyes, that sparked an unexpected warmth in her stomach and in her cheeks. _Play it cool,_ she told herself, somewhat futilely, _since you're an adult and all._

She cleared her throat. "Yeah. Yeah, I would, actually."

His eyes widened. "Really?"

"Yes, really." Erin made a good-natured shooing gesture. "Now get back on the bus before the bloody thing leaves without you."

**Author's Note:**

> Admittedly, I haven't actually read 'Death of a Naturalist' - it just seems like the kind of thing that Erin might be into.


End file.
